


Of Wrong Numbers and Changes in Destiny

by WillowFaerie82



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Joffrey is skeevy but it doesn't matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowFaerie82/pseuds/WillowFaerie82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa dials the wrong number, walking home from work one night, and meets the rest of her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Wrong Numbers and Changes in Destiny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SanSanFanFan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanSanFanFan/gifts).



Sansa pulls her cell phone out of her purse as a third shiver of fear scurries down her spine. She dials her mother’s number from memory and prays to the gods she won’t be waking her up from a sound sleep. When a gruff, rumbling voice answers, where Sansa is expecting her mother’s clear, gentle tone the fear momentarily ratchets up a notch.   
“Hello? If you don’t say something I’m hanging up.” The voice on the other end rasps when Sansa puts the phone back to her ear.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’m walking home and was trying to call my mom. I must have dialed your number by mistake.” Sansa fumbles over herself, embarrassment coloring her cheeks even though there is no one around to see. “I’m sorry, I’ll let you go. Have a good night!” Sansa is pulling the phone away from her ear to disconnect the call when she hears the man respond.

“Wait.” She puts the phone back up to her ear again and readjusts her purse on her shoulder. “How long is your walk? Are you going through a dangerous part of town? Why are you walking? Are you safe?” 

“It’s not too terribly long a walk; just 10 more minutes. It’s a fairly safe part of town, or it used to be at least. I just had a weird feeling and wanted to have someone on the phone just in case. As for why I’m walking, I just moved back to town recently and I’m still working on getting all my stuff figured out.” Sansa could have kicked herself for telling a complete stranger all that. But it’s out there, too late to take it back now. “What’s your name? Since I’ve practically told you my whole life story.” 

“Sandor. Fair’s fair; what’s yours?” Sandor asks, amusement just on the edges of his tone.

“Oh, right. Sansa; Sansa Stark.” Sansa feels another shiver course down her back, at the breathy chuckle Sandor responds with, for an entirely different reason than fear. 

“Well, Miss Sansa Stark, what is it that’s got you out this late at night?” Sandor asks. Sansa hears him heave out a great sigh and a warm little knot of, something – maybe anticipation, takes up residence low in her stomach.

“Singing and waiting tables at a bar downtown.” Sansa admits, a hint of embarrassment sneaking into her tone. 

“Oh ho, we have a little songbird here.” Sandor laughs; and it’s a long, deep, resounding sound that tightens the knot in Sansa’s stomach. 

“You’re laughing at me, with no cause. That’s not nice. You’ve not heard me sing.” Sansa feels herself pouting.

“I’m not a nice man, Little Bird. But you’re right, I haven’t heard you sing. Maybe one day I will.” 

“You should come tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sing; I generally only get the chance when the main act’s breaks coincide with mine. But I’d be able to thank you for kind of walking home with me.” Sansa offers in a rush, afraid Sandor will hang up now that they’ve been on the phone long enough for her to get home. As it is she’s walking onto the front porch when she makes the offer and instead of going inside she sits down on the top step, letting her purse drop to the stair below. 

“So, should I just go to every bar downtown asking if a Sansa Stark works there? Or is there one establishment in particular I ought to come to?” Sandor asks with another laugh.

“Gods how stupid of me. I invite you and don’t tell you the name of the place. It’s called ‘Winterfell’, it’s just off Kings Road on Wolfswood Street. I really do hope you’ll stop by.” Sansa offers cheerfully. She toed off her dress shoes as soon as she sat down and has been wiggling the feeling back into her toes, and she groans lightly as she works the arch of her right foot against the edge of the step. 

“Are you alright, Little Bird?” Sandor asks, and Sansa hears him sitting up, the rustle of sheets an unmistakable sound even over the phone.  
“Oh, yes I’m fine. I just sat down on my front porch and took my shoes off, it’s been a long day.” Sansa feels the embarrassment she thought she’d chased away come back with a vengeance. 

“Well, since you’re home safe I’ll let you go.” Sandor says not bothering to wait for a reply before hanging up. 

 

For the first time since starting the job Sansa is excited to go to work. The bar is nice enough, the clientele not as bad as at some others. No, it isn’t the patrons she had to worry about here. It’s the manager’s son, Joffrey. He’s pleasant enough to look at, but his good looks hide a myriad of ugliness. He’s very handsy, instead of calling out to get Sansa’s attention he will grab her arm, too tight, or wrap his arm around her waist, like he has a right to it. He is constantly making crass comments about her chest and cleavage. It’s degrading. When she told Margaery, one of the other waitresses that she’s thinking of complaining to Cersei, the manager, Margaery just laughed and told her she should be flattered. 

It’s an hour before closing when Margaery squeals and leaves a tray full of drinks, she’s meant to be delivering to a table, on the bar and runs toward the door. She shoutes “Bronn!!” at the top of her lungs and launches herself at the man who has just stepped inside. 

Jamie, who was co-manager with Cersei, is working behind the bar and laughs when Sansa moves to take the tray with a confused frown. “I might as well clock her off for the night. Won’t get any more work out of her now that he’s here. You’ll be fine by yourself, won’t you?” 

“Yeah I’m ok.” Sansa offers a reassuring nod, shifts the tray into a comfortable grip and makes her way through the small crowd to the table waiting for their drinks. Then she moves over to the table where Margaery is sitting, prim-as-you-please on Bronn’s knee, and another larger man is sitting with them looking completely uncomfortable. “Margie, Jamie said he was going to clock you out for the night. Do you want a drink?” 

“Are you ok with that, Sanny? Just say the word I’ll be right back at it with you. Otherwise I’ll take one of those lemon things you’re constantly going on about.” Margaery turns to the other man at the table who is doing his best to disappear. “Sandor, hon, you want a beer? We got that Cosmic Hellhound in, you know the one you’ll actually drink without complaining it tastes like horse piss.” 

Sansa turns when she hears the name Sandor and looks at the other man at the table. He is both exactly what she expected, and nothing like what she expected. He’s big. Broad through the shoulders, lean and muscled; and, if she had to wager a guess, probably almost a full foot taller than her. Which is impressive with as tall as she is.   
It isn’t too long after Bronn and Sandor get there that Jamie is making the ‘Last Call’ announcement and a good majority of the bar clears out. Jamie is in the process of counting the register down, and Sansa is restocking and cleaning the bar when she feels his presence behind her. She turns and stands after placing the last of a case of Blue Moon into the cooler. Sansa looks around him and realizes Margaery and Bronn have gone.

“Have you got a ride home tonight, or were you gonna call another random stranger and talk his ear off while you walked?” Sandor asks in a teasing rasp.

“I’ll have you know, the gentleman I talked to last night didn’t seem at all inconvenienced by my call. Unless you’d like to refute that, Sandor.” Sansa teases right back, placing her fist on her cocked out hip with a ‘humpf’. 

“So far as I’m concerned, Little Bird, you still owe me a song. I’ll wait outside and take you home when you’re ready.” Sandor turns and, just like the night before without waiting for any kind of confirmation or by-your-leave, makes his way out the door. 

Sansa immediately pulls her phone out and texts Margaery. She trusts her instinct, which tell her Sandor is a good guy, but it can’t hurt to have it backed up. Receiving a positive text in response Sansa makes quick work of the last of the clean-up and shouts to Jamie that she’s leaving. 

Jamie comes to the doorway of the office, right next to the opening of the bar and, leaning on the door frame, says “Thank you, Miss Stark. See you tomorrow?”

“I have tomorrow off. It’s Jeyne and Margie working.” Sansa says zipping her jacket and making sure she has her phone. 

“Ah, yes. Well then, have a good day off.” Jamie holds the door open for her and locks it after she steps outside. 

Sansa makes her way over to the black pick-up sitting by the lamppost, so she could see Sandor illuminated inside, and climbs into the passenger side. “So, home then, Little Bird?” Sandor asks starting the truck. He’d been listening to a classic rock station and turns the volume down as Sansa gets herself settled. 

“Or we could get a cup of coffee at the diner on the corner, that is. I mean.” Sansa stumbles over herself, not used to being this forward. She takes a deep breath, calms the fluttering in her stomach and speaks again “if you don’t mind, and don’t have to be any place.” 

“I’d like that, Little Bird. So long as you don’t mind being seen in public with the likes of me.” Sandor says, a tone of resignation making the statement sound sadder than Sansa had ever heard. 

“I’m not sure what you mean by that, Sandor.” Sansa questions turning, as much as the seatbelt will allow, to face her companion.

At the red light Sandor turns his face and switches the dome light in the truck on. “I’m sure you noticed. You’d have to be blind not to. Most people do everything in their power to excuse themselves from my company as quickly as possible.” Sandor indicates the burn scars that take up the majority of the right side of his face. 

“I think you’ll find I’m not like most people. I had noticed the scarring. But it doesn’t bother me. I do want to call my mom and dad so they don’t worry.” Sansa turns back to her phone and misses the look of awe on Sandor’s face. They pull into the parking lot of the 24 hour diner while she’s still on the phone with her mother, reassuring her that she won’t be out too late, but she wants to grab a bite to eat and a cup of coffee with a friend. Sansa and Sandor talk over cups of hot chocolate, and a shared plate of ‘Smothered Fries’ until the inky black of just-past-closing-time turns into the cool, dreary, gray of pre-dawn.

 

The drive to Sansa’s parent’s house is made is companionable silence, except for Sansa telling Sandor where to turn. Sansa can tell she surprises Sandor when she leans over the center arm rest and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “This was fun, Sandor. Thank you for brining me home, again.” She’s stalling for time. Not wanting to leave Sandor’s warm presence. 

“You still owe me that song, Little Bird. I’ll collect one of these days.” Sandor chuckles as Sansa feels her face heating up with a blush. “Go on then. Looks like someone wants your attention.” Sandor indicates the living room window where Sansa can see her dog ‘Lady’ has gotten on the sofa and pushed the curtain aside to look out the window.

Sansa chuckles seeing her big baby looking out the window waiting for her; even though she knows she isn’t supposed to be on the furniture. “I’d better go. My mom will throw a fit when she finds out Lady’s been on the sofa. You’ll call me later though, right?” Sansa tries to make the question sound casual and knows she fails when Sandor rumbles out a big belly laugh. 

“I’ll call you later, Little Bird. Go save your pup from whatever fate angry mothers dream up.” Sansa laughs at the idea of her mother doing anything worse than petting and scritching her wolf/shepherd mix dog. She feels him watch her make her way up the sidewalk, onto the porch and through the front door. Sansa turns to close it and waves, smiling when he returns the wave then backs down the drive. 

Sansa sighs, calls for Lady, and makes her way up to her room in a dreamy haze. Her life is changing, seemingly for the better.


End file.
